


pull-out

by spidermanhomecomeme



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Beach House, Cows, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Idiots in Love, Innuendo, Michelle Jones is a Saint, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Peter Parker is a Mess, Rating May Change, Road Trips, Vaginal Fingering, and there was only one bed, cow facts as foreplay, oh my god there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: In which Peter and MJ are stuck in a car together for eight hours on the semi-annual Best Friend Vacation-extravaganza. It's an awkward ride, that's for sure, but what happens when the three beds they were promised at Betty's parent's beach house are suddenly turned into two?More awkwardness ensues.And cow facts. Lots and lots of cow facts.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796449
Comments: 93
Kudos: 200
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1. Road Trip AU
> 
> AHHHHHH it's here!!!! WE MADE IT!!! Spideychelle Week!!! hello!!
> 
> Hi everyone!! it's been awhile, but i am SO excited to come back this week!! I have been looking forward to reading fics and looking at all the art since the prompts were announced, while also stressing about what the heck I was going to do. 
> 
> This is the first part of a two-part series. Day seven will be the conclusion! This first one is inspired by season 3, episode 6 of Parks and Rec, where Leslie and Ben drive to Indianapolis together.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!
> 
> Happy Spideychelle Week!!!

“You almost ready?” MJ asks from the living room.

“Uh—” Peter runs both hands through his hair, mussing it up out of a mix of both frustration at himself and panic. He stares down at his now empty backpack, all of the contents he’d originally packed dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. “Yeah!” He shouts as he starts to stuff the wrinkled t-shirts and shorts back in haphazardly. 

“Are you sure?” 

He jumps at her voice suddenly entering his room. Spinning around, he smiles sheepishly. “Almost!”

MJ leans against the doorframe, her own duffle bag slung over her shoulder. “Need any help?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose before scratching the back of his neck. He goes to one of his biggest decision-making problems, holding up two near-identical pairs of swim trunks, both blue, one a lighter shade, and one a darker shade. “Which one of these should I bring?”

MJ fixes him with a deadpan, unimpressed stare. “The light blue.”

Peter nods, almost resolute. “Yeah… Yeah… But I mean…” He sighs. “I do like the dark blue.”

“So bring the dark blue.”

“But you said the light blue.”

“Okay, then bring the light blue.”

Peter stays silent, his gaze flitting between the two similar pairs of shorts. 

“Bring both.” 

He looks up at her, letting out a nervous, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Good idea.”

MJ stares at a spot on the wall just above his head, and he assumes it’s because she’s silently asking whatever higher being is watching them right now for another ounce of patience. 

“Sorry,” Peter says after a beat, his hands wringing the last t-shirt he plans to pack. “I know I can be a pain in the ass, so… Thanks. For putting up with me, I guess?”

Her stony expression doesn’t last long, falling as she lets out a quiet huff of laughter. She turns back around, heading into the living room again, and although he can’t see her face, Peter swears he can hear the hint of a smile in her tone as she calls back to him, “You’re good!”

His stomach flips, and he feels himself falling deeper and deeper into the pit of catching feelings for his best friend. It’s dangerous territory, he knows, but it’s not as if he can help it. MJ’s just… so… 

So...

She’s so _MJ._

And he just likes her _so. Much._

She makes him laugh, both times when he needs it and times when he least expects it. 

She’s such a wildly cool person, he’s not even sure she’s real sometimes. 

And although she has this hard, deadpan exterior, he’s seen her when she’s at her mushiest and softest. 

And today, he’s seen her today, as they get ready for their three day long trip to Virginia beach.

MJ had so graciously agreed to wait for him to be done with class before they’d head out. Why she was so willing to put up with that, he had no idea. He didn’t get out of class until 4:20 PM, giving them not very much daylight for the seven-and-a-half hour drive ahead of them to Betty’s parent’s beach cottage down in Virginia. Now at this point, nearly 5:00 PM, they wouldn’t be getting in until a little after midnight, and that was at the earliest; if they took out bathroom breaks, speed limits, snack stops, etc. 

Part of him, a tiny, tiny part of him, wants to think she might have originally agreed to this because of the minute possibility that she could feel the same way about him that he felt about her. 

But then that part of him is crushed by the realization that perhaps she was doing it because she’s a good person and a good friend. 

Of course, there’s been moments where he’s been sure—absolutely sure—that she felt the same way. Eye contact that’s lasted a bit too long, said too much; touches that have lingered and burned when they shouldn’t. 

And again, the rational side of his brain bursts in like the Kool-Aid man, rubbing it in his face that he’s just imagining things, that all of that stuff he thinks he’s seeing is just himself getting his hopes up.

It’s thoughts like these—the good and the not so good—that make the idea of spending seven-ish hours alone in a car with her seem like a really, really, _really_ bad idea. He’s not sure how he’s going to function the rest of the day, and honestly, the next three days. How he’s not going to say something stupid and get himself in deep shit, he has no idea. 

Right now, as they get into the car, MJ climbing into the driver’s seat, Peter in the passenger seat, he figures the best way to deal with this—his feelings for her, his dumbass brain, everything—is just to avoid, avoid, _avoid._

His main objective is to not spend any time alone with her outside of this drive.

He’s lost in thought, planning out the sleeping arrangements—Betty had said that she and her sister and two cousins always stayed at this house, so it had four sleeping spots—so much so that he barely registers the car engine roaring to life, doesn’t even notice MJ pulling-out of the parking lot and onto the highway. 

“Dude?” 

MJ’s voice, once again, yanks him out of his thoughts. 

“Uh… What—huh?” He sputters.

She passes a glance in his direction, the corner of her mouth twitching upward briefly. “You good?”

He seems to have forgotten how to speak for a moment, stammering incoherent sounds that are only vaguely human before he’s actually able to answer her. 

“What? Yeah!” He says perhaps a bit too dramatically. “I’m fine. You good?”

MJ’s eyes shift between him and the road in front of her. “Uh-huh.”

“Good!” A wide, borderline too-excited smile stretches across his face. “Great!”

Again, she glances at him. “I don’t know. I mean, you look kinda pale. You seem jumpy. You’re not gonna puke are you?” She lightly teases, though it’s evident that there’s some genuine concern there.

“What? No, no.” Peter shakes his head vehemently. “No. No no. No. I’m fine.”

“Okay, good,” MJ gives a single nod. “Because I don’t wanna have to make you pay to have my car detailed again.”

Peter lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah—Yeah. Me neither.”

Already, he feels as though he’s not doing so great. He’s too much in his head. But… he doesn’t want to risk saying something stupid…. And yet… staying silent only lets him listen to his thoughts even more, and then he just keeps thinking about this whole situation. 

He just needs to distract himself. 

For the first hour of the trip, he has a hard time coming up with anything that isn’t talking to her, or listening to the faint music on the stereo. He tries looking at his phone for a bit during hour-one, but that only proves to make him the teensiest bit carsick, the contents of his stomach lightly sloshing as he attempts to read through his Twitter feed. Then, he tries to sleep a bit, closing his eyes and letting the gentle hum of the drive help him to drift off. 

He tries pointing out every farm animal he sees in hour two, and that proves to help just a little, giving his brain something else to focus on while also keeping his eyes on the moving world outside so he doesn’t actually vomit. 

“Cow,” he says, approximately a million times as they drive through a small bit of countryside in Maryland, pointing at every single one he sees. “Cow. Ooo, horse! Wait—” He stops. “It’s a cow. False alarm.”

“Cow.” “Cows!” “MJ! Another cow!”

Every time, MJ gives a slow, deliberate blink. 

“Oh my God. Cow-puppies!”

“You mean calves, Pete?”

“No,” He shakes his head, mumbling under his breath. “Cow-puppies.”

He’s not sure if MJ laughs at that, but he can definitely see the slightly-pained humor in her eyes as she glares at him. 

“Did you know that a cow can walk up a flight of stairs, but it can’t walk back down?” Peter even starts reading off a list of fun cow facts from different farming websites. 

Again, anything to keep him distracted.

Anything.

_“The average domestic cow sleeps only four hours a day.”_

_“Cows are devotional mothers and are known to walk miles to find their calves. Aww that’s cute!”_

_“There are more than 800 different breeds of cows around the world. Wow. That’s… That’s a lot.”_

_“Cows drink the equivalent to an entire tub of bathwater each day.”_

“You know, most people think that cows have four stomachs, but apparently that’s not true. Get this—” Peter starts when he gets to the end of his list of fifty fun facts. “It’s one stomach. With four chambers. Crazy, right?”

“Mmhmm,” MJ hums, staring straight ahead at the road. She seems to relax at the few seconds of silence that follow. “You seem really interested in cows today.”

Peter struggles to answer at first. “Oh, oh yeah. You know. They’re just… a super cool animal. Super… Super, uh… interesting.”

MJ’s mouth hangs open a bit as she passes him a side-eye glance. “Uh-huh.”

Finally, when they reach the half-way point, they switch drivers, Peter thanking God herself for giving him the chance to focus on something that’s not MJ. Or cows. It’s much easier at that point, driving being something that easily takes his mind off of everything going on. And MJ does help with that to some degree; she reads for a while in his first hour of driving—how she’s able to do that and not want to hurl all over the dashboard, he has no idea. 

And it still seems fine, normal even, when she puts her book down, stretching while suggesting they find something new to listen to. “Ned made us this playlist to listen to on the way. Said something about how it’ll ‘hype us up,’ whatever the hell that means,” she snorts. 

Peter grins, his hands relaxed at ten-and-two. “Ooo yeah. Sounds good.”

“Or, we can always just listen to Old MacDonald on repeat. You know, since you seem to love cows so much.”

Peter sighs in slight embarrassment, lips pressing together into a thin line to suppress a smile.

When the first song that comes on is _Let’s Stay Together_ , and Al Green sings the words _I, I’m so in love with you,_ Peter thinks once again that he might be in trouble. 

Peter quickly tries to turn it down, but MJ stops his hand. “Wait, wait. I like this song,” she says as she pushes his hand back to the wheel.

He just keeps telling himself that it’s not a big deal, it’s just a song, and soon, a new one will play. Everything will be fine. He doesn’t need to worry. 

But then, he thinks he might actually kill Ned when _My Girl_ comes on, and then again when the Beach Boys start singing _Wouldn’t it Be Nice_.

He might really do it. 

In a panic, he just shuts off the music completely. 

“Hey—” MJ starts, reaching for the volume button again. 

“—Music distracts me,” Peter spits out hastily, a bit too defensive to be convincing. “I can’t—I can’t concentrate on the road. Just uh—Just need some quiet.”

He can actually feel her doubtful gaze burning into him, and he doesn’t have to look to see that she’s probably raising a very disbelieving eyebrow right at him. Even so, she doesn’t say anything else, settling back into her seat, bringing a knee up to her chest as she watches the fields pass by. 

The silence, as he had anticipated, doesn’t seem to help. He cringes, mostly at himself. He’s been trying to hard to make this casual, to be nonchalant, and he’s pretty sure he’s done the exact opposite in the nearly five hours that they been stuck in the car. He wants to apologize, but he holds back, afraid that saying anything at all would bring too much attention to how he’s been acting. 

But he also knows that it’s only a matter of hours, minutes, or seconds before MJ calls him out on all this bullshit. Frankly, he’s a little surprised and confused as to why she hasn’t already. 

Maybe she’s just accepted that one of her best friends is one of the weirdest people on planet Earth. 

So, why in the world he thinks it’s a good idea to say what he says next, as they’re driving along more countryside at night, he’s not quite sure. 

“You know that… _Manatees_ are considered the cows of the sea.”

“Oh, my GOD,” MJ groans. “What are you _on?_ ”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

“I know you said you were good, but you’re acting really loser-y right now,” MJ glares, but her tone still has that slight hint of worry in it. “Like, way more than usual. Are you okay?”

“I mean, yeah?” Peter sighs. “Kinda. It’s fine. I’m sorry. I just—” He flinches, lips twisting as he tries to think of what to say without giving anything away. He passes a brief glance in her direction, seeing the faint concern in her expression, her face glowing prettily under the blue light of the dashboard. 

He lets out a sharp exhale. “I’m just tired,” he lies. 

She watches him for a moment, and he knows—just knows—that she doesn’t quite believe him. Being tired explains nothing about his behavior. 

But thankfully, she lets it go, or at least she seems to. 

“We can turn the music back on,” Peter speaks again, softly, nodding his head in her direction. “I’m sorry. Again. I’ll—I’ll stop being weird.”

MJ lets out a short sigh before shaking her head with a tired huff of a laugh. “It’s fine, man. Don’t worry about it.”

He flips back on the stereo, trying not to let his heart race as _Electric Love_ plays.

The rest of the drive is spent in a much more comfortable silence, yet there’s still the hint of tension hanging between them after Peter’s weird behavior earlier on. This, he thinks, is something that will keep him up for nights to come. It’ll be that one embarrassing memory his brain decides to remind him of as he’s trying to fall asleep, torturing him. He’ll cringe, wondering why he couldn’t just be cool like any normal person. 

As they get closer and closer to the beach house, and as the time gets close to midnight, with still an hour left, he can see MJ falling asleep in her seat from the corner of his eye. But he can also see her fighting it, trying to stay awake.

And then he wonders if she’s only trying to stay up so she can keep him company. 

“MJ,” He says, voice soft. “You can sleep. It’s fine. I got the rest of the drive.”

With her eyes closed, she lets out a deep breath. “I’m not sleeping. I’m just resting my eyes,” she mumbles sleepily. 

There’s another flip in his stomach, his chest warming as he tries to fight back a smile, not able to think anything else besides how cute she is right now. 

He grins. “Okay. Sure.”

She reaches a hand out to smack him, but she misses. He chuckles under his breath. 

MJ doesn’t have to energy to try again, and soon she seems to have succumbed to her body’s need for rest. 

Peter lets his hand fall to the gear shift between the seats, relaxing. 

But he tenses, feeling MJ’s hand meet his, her skin soft against his own. She doesn’t seem to be awake enough to notice, as she doesn’t move away. He gently moves his hand again, letting his pinkie rest next to hers, his heart swelling, his head swimming in the feeling of just how nice and warm it feels to have her hand with his. 

What he doesn’t notice, however, is the way MJ’s lips curl into a small, soft smile as she finally drifts off to sleep.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at day 7!! it's been so fun writing and seeing what everyone else has created!! Tiiiiiime tooooooooooooo say gooodbyyyyyyyyyyyyye (duhnuuuuuh)
> 
> This was something different for me, because I've never written explicit smut before, but something I've wanted to try for some time. So, I figured for Spideychelle Week, it'd be the perfect time!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the thrilling conclusion of pull-out lol

“Hey, uh, MJ.”

Peter’s voice is hushed as he gently nudges her. 

She mumbles and stirs, blinking sleepily at him as she returns to a vague form of something akin to consciousness. 

“MJ.” His hand brushes her arm once more, leaving a certain warmth that she can’t quite place. “We’re here.” 

Sure enough, there’s a faint glow coming from the porch light ahead, though it’s entirely too bright for one o’clock in the morning. MJ sits up in her seat, yawning as she stretches her arms out in front of her. Her eyelids droop for another moment as she goes to unbuckle her seat belt, and she can just barely hear the opening of the driver’s side door as Peter climbs out of the old Volvo. 

“You don’t need me to carry you in do you?” Peter’s gently teasing voice cuts through her sleep-raddled mind.

_Apparently he’s done being a weirdo._

The thought of being held against her best friend’s chest flashes through her mind, fleeting, but it’s there alright. She shakes it away almost as quickly as it appears. She cracks an eye open, quirking an unimpressed brow at him as he leans against the door frame with a stupid little smirk on his face. 

“Fuck off,” she groans.

Something in the way he shakes his head with a snort of a nervous-sounding laugh causes her stomach to flip, filling with butterflies. 

Again, she simply brushes it off. 

But then, watching him pop open the trunk, his shirt riding up a little as he lifts the lid, she wonders if he’s thinking about the way their hands touched in the car as much as she is. It was a soft touch, warm, and in a way, inexplicably familiar. Though, as much as it made her heart seize, Michelle’s not sure why she didn’t just pull her hand away. 

Then again, Peter didn’t pull away either. 

It’s dangerous territory, this kind of thinking. “Do you think there’ll be any cows on the beach?” She asks through a yawn, a teasing lilt to her tone. 

Peter barely glances back at her, scoffing. “Shut up.”

A smirk pulls at her lips.

They grab their things from the car, MJ feeling as though she’s moving through quicksand as she gathers her bearings, trying to get a feel for her “land legs” after sitting for so long. The walk to the front porch feels like a half-marathon, and it feels even longer as Peter struggles to remember the door code to get in. 

Finally, after a nearly eight hour drive after class, they step inside the small beach cottage. 

The house is silent and dark, the only light coming from a lamp in the kitchenette. Ned and Betty must have gone to sleep hours ago, there being practically no sign of life in the house except for the few dishes in the sink. There’s a note on the counter, from Betty giving them instructions for the wifi, the tv, and of course, how to work the shower. 

MJ can feel herself once again falling closer and closer into the welcome embrace of sleep. She doesn’t waste any more time, nearly pushing past Peter as she heads for the open door to their bedroom. She can hear him laugh behind her, and she bites back her own smile when he calls out a soft, good-humored, “hey!” 

But as they both step into the room, they’re met with a rather strange surprise. 

When Betty had told them about this house, she had sworn up and down that there was room for four people to sleep. Two bedrooms, three beds. One for her and Ned, two for Peter and MJ. It was simple. 

Here, however, in this dark, moonlit room at one in the morning, there’s only one, full-sized bed. 

One bed, and a single, dark leather loveseat. 

The silence that falls between them almost crushes their shoulders under its weight. MJ can practically hear the collective overthinking they’re about to do. 

“You can take the bed—” They both say simultaneously.

Peter immediately cuts in. “Uh, you—you should take it,” he insists, his lips stretching into a sheepish grin as he scratches the back of his neck. 

“No, it’s fine,” MJ replies, setting her backpack down next onto the leather sofa, flinching at the way the fabric squeaks under the weight of her things. “I can take the couch. You take the bed.” 

“No, no,” Peter repeats back to her. “Seriously, I’m cool with it. Plus,” He continues, putting his own bag down next to hers and ignoring how the squeaky leather groans again. “Being Spider-Man, I’ve gotten pretty used to sleeping literally anywhere. Just one of my many talents,” he cracks a joke, his almost timid grin wreaking havoc on her insides. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up on the side of a building.”

She quirks a doubting brow in his direction, though the corner of her lips twitch upward. 

“For real,” Peter pushes. “I’m cool with it. The super-speedy healing will help with the lumpy couch.”

Her lips purse as she lets out a quiet hum. She’s quiet for a moment, her brows pinching together. “It does make sense,” she finally nods. 

Peter smiles. 

“I mean, you _are_ the short one,” she teases. 

“Hey!” He fights to get rid of his smile as he shoves her playfully. “Only by, like, two-inches.” 

Their shared laughter dies for a moment, and they’re left alone in the quiet, dim room. 

MJ wants to roll her eyes, even though she’s beginning to feel that same, creeping awkwardness from earlier. “Why—” She clears her throat, telling herself that it’s only so she can get the tired scratchiness out of her voice. “Why don’t we just both take it? We’re adults. And friends. We can share. Besides,” she pauses, her eyes drifting to the bed in question, a strange yet not entirely unwelcome heat rising to her cheeks. “It’s not a queen, but we could both fit.”

“No,” Peter spits out, perhaps a little too quickly. A faint blush falls across his face, and he coughs again, rocking back on his heels. He huffs out a breathy laugh. “No… You—You really don’t wanna share a bed… with… with me. I—” He chuckles. “I’m a huge— _HUGE_ —blanket hog. And, like… I always try to cuddle whoever’s in bed with me—not that… I’m ever in bed with a lot of people… or I mean—random people. Just—”

Throughout his rambling, Michelle starts to really feel that now annoying, almost tingling warmth even more, the same one she’s been feeling since this damn trip started. She shifts on her feet, trying not to think about what it might feel like to have Peter’s body pressed up against her, snuggling up to get warm, in that very bed. 

It alarms her just how quickly she thinks that, yes, she would really like that. Very much.

“—I guess I get cold at night? I don’t know, every trip for decathlon in high school, Ned would always complain if he had to share a bed with me at one of the hotels.” 

His quiet laughter fills the room around them, and MJ can’t help but notice the correlation between that sound and the speed at which those stupid stomach-butterflies’ wings flap. 

“—I honestly don’t know where I get it? I mean, I slept with a teddy bear until I was thirt—”

“—Okay, fine!” MJ sets him free from his rambling, a tired laugh hiding under her words. “You take the couch. I’ll take the bed.”

Peter nods, lips pressing together into a thin, yet slightly triumphant smile as he goes to move the bags off of the loveseat. 

After a beat, he speaks again, chuckling quietly. “We made that a lot harder than it needed to be.”

MJ can’t help but let out a snort. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, uh—” He coughs to hide the jittery waver of his voice. “I guess I’ll get the couch ready.”

“Sounds—sounds good,” Michelle exhales a sharp breath through her nose, a twitch of a grin appearing on her lips. She lamely throws a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll—I’ll just go get ready for bed. In the bathroom. Yeah,” she adds, toying with the loose threads at the hem of her t-shirt. 

He looks up from his bag, brows raised, eyes dopey and sleepy. “Oh, cool. Okay. I’ll—” He clears his throat again. “I’ll use it after you.”

“Cool,” she mutters without another glance, looking down at her feet as she grabs her toiletry bag and a new t-shirt and sleep shorts, before practically sprinting out of the room and into the hall. She doesn’t stop until she gets to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. Relief is the one thing she can feel in that instance, yet her breath is still stuck in her throat. Closing her eyes, she runs her hands over her weary, yet tingling face. 

_God, what was wrong with her?_

The icy floor of the bathroom tile does nothing to cool the warmth radiating from her head to her toes. With another quick, sharp exhale she moves to the sink, splashing her face with cold water. She looks up after a beat, staring—borderline, glaring—at herself in the mirror. 

_Get it together, MJ,_ she thinks to herself, mouth setting in determination.

One weird road trip, one single hand touch in the car, one glimpse of abs, one bed, and one over active imagination; the key ingredients to begin the process of breaking Michelle Jones. 

But she won’t let that happen. No, she absolutely will not. Sure, Peter’s probably one of the best people she’s ever known, and sure, he’s funny—sometimes, mostly on accident—and sure, he’s got the body of an olympic gymnast, and she can’t get the image out of her mind that olympian bod wrapped around her in bed, but none of that means anything. Anything at all. 

None of it’s relevant to how she feels right now. And none of that changes anything about how this night—this trip—is going to go. 

Yes, maybe she’s had this stupid crush on her stupid best friend for some stupid amount of time. 

But again. 

It’s not relevant here. 

She’s just had a weird day. That’s it. She’s tired. She needs to sleep. 

Forcing any and all thoughts concerning the boy in the next room, she starts her nightly routine; brushing her teeth, washing and moisturizing her face, the basics, not rushing anything. She takes her time changing her clothes, perhaps a little longer than normal. But again, she tells herself it’s only because she’s tired—not at all that she’s avoiding going back to the room where Peter is. When she runs out of things to do ~~to procrastinate going back~~ , she brings herself to the mirror again, staring at herself with almost disappointment. 

But then, she steels herself. She didn’t need to be freaking out right now. Peter’s just a person. He’s just her best friend. They’ve had plenty of sleepovers before, and this is no different. And besides, they’re sleeping in two separate places, so really, all of this inner turmoil is pointless. Nothing’s going to happen.

And really, why should she be freaking out about the guy who read her cow facts for a solid thirty minutes of their trip?

With a solid, resolute nod, lips pressed tightly together, she exits the bathroom and goes back down the hall, opening their bedroom door without a second thought. 

Big mistake.

Big BIG mistake.

She really should have waited maybe five more seconds, because when the door swings open, Peter’s standing there in just his boxers, his head caught in his t-shirt as he pulls it on, chest and abs just out and ready to go. 

Big mistake— _that absolutely doesn’t mean anything._

It suddenly becomes very confusing to MJ why the Brant’s would have the thermostat set at eighty degrees. 

Michelle decides that there’s a very interesting spot on the wall just above his head. 

Peter pulls the shirt the rest of the way on, his eyes widening when he sees his friend just standing there. “Oh, uh, hey.” A not-cute-at-all unforgiving blush rises to his cheeks, spreading to the very tips of his ears. 

They both huff out an awkward laugh.

“Uh—” Michelle finally meets his gaze, finding it damn near impossible to go back to her spot on the wall now. “Bathroom’s—bathroom’s open.”

The chuckle that comes out of him is breathy. “Cool. I’ll just—go use it, then.”

“Yeah.”

She waits until the door closes behind him to smack herself on the forehead. Groaning, she flops herself on the bed, covering her face again. 

These feelings have always been here, she knows that, she’s not dumb; but they’ve never been this intense and the way he’s been acting all day and in the past fifteen minutes hasn’t been much help at all. She wonders if he’s been so strange because he’s feeling those things, too. She’s seen that guy hopelessly in love, and it’s always looked kind of like what he’s doing tonight, but…

This feels like a whole new level of loser.

Truly, she has no idea how she’s going to get through the night. 

But maybe—

_No._

No. She’s not going to think about this any more. She’s going to go to bed before he gets back. That way, she doesn’t have to talk to him or see him. She’ll sleep, and then they can just hang out tomorrow. With Ned and Betty. Not alone. 

As long as their not alone, she’ll be fine. 

She gets up to shut the overhead light off before turning the bedside lamp on, passing a brief glance to the loveseat turned bed across from her. Shaking her head, she pulls back the blankets and settles into her own bed.

When Peter returns, the room is dim, Michelle scrolling mindlessly on her phone. She wonders if she appears a little too casual for comfort, but she shakes that thought away as the door clicks shut behind him. 

Peter’s silent as he settles into the couch, the leather groaning and squealing loudly under his movement. The noise cuts through the air, causing them both to freeze for a moment. He grins sheepishly as he nestles further under his blanket, his face becoming only partly visible. 

Michelle doesn’t say anything as she turns to the bedside lamp and switches it off. 

The room becomes blanketed in dark, and it takes a moment for their eyes to adjust. The air feels heavy; soul-crushing, even. It’s deathly quiet, and Michelle’s almost a hundred percent positive that Peter can hear her breathing and the way her heart’s beating like an out-of-time snare drum. 

She closes her eyes, willing her mind and body to return to that feeling in the car, before she started having this weird, sudden existential crisis. And to some degree, it starts to work. She counts, starting at one, hoping that having her mind focus on something other than the current situation might help. Her mind starts to drift, her counting switching to random, sleep-induced thoughts, and her body starts to feel heavy, sinking further into the fluffy mattress—

_EER-ER-EEEP_

But she’s startled, yanked back to reality by the loud squeaking of Peter tossing and turning on the loveseat.

Once again, the deafening silence returns, but Michelle doesn’t say anything, annoyed, but still electing to just ignore it. All he’s doing is getting comfortable. No reason to attack him for that. 

It’s quiet again, and for the second time, she closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Minutes go by, and she’s finding it harder and harder to get that feeling back. The counting from one doesn’t work this time, her brain immediately crossing to the Peter lane that’s always there. The thoughts and feelings from earlier in the day and in the bathroom flood right back—especially seeing him mid-putting-a-shirt-on—and it suddenly becomes too hot to be under so many blankets.

Trying not to let even the tiniest bit of frustration show, she flips onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, subtly scooting a little closer to the wall to be as far away from her problem as possible. Drawing in a long, deep breath, she closes her eyes again. 

It’s quiet again, the silence that fills the room bringing the mood back to what might be serene if she weren’t so stressed out. She focuses on her breathing, on slowing her heart beat to a semi-normal rate, pushing any and all thoughts about Peter Parker out of her head—

_EP-EEEEER-EP_

_EEER-EEP_

Peter groans from his place on the couch as he turns on his side, cutting the silence of the room with his restlessness. 

There’s a moment where she thinks that he’s finished, that he’s finally settled.

_ER-EP_

And instantly, the moment is gone.

“Peter,” she almost hisses. 

“Sorry!” Peter whispers back. “I can’t—ugh… get comfortable. It’s like there’s a giant metal rod just… Stuck right in my back.”

She doesn’t say anything in return, sighing as she turns over on her side, facing away from him. If anything, as annoyed at his noisy fidgeting as she is, she can see the silver lining—being angry at him is a nice distraction from whatever the hell the other feeling is—illness, pining, lust, she doesn’t know. At least now she can just focus on how much of a pain in the ass he’s being. 

She does feel sorry for him, of course. The couch hadn’t looked all that comfortable when they walked in, and a loveseat isn’t a good option for anyone, no matter how tall or super-powered they are. It would have been much easier for them both if he had agreed to just share with her. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal. 

(It is.)

It’s not like all she’d be able to think about would be his hand next to hers, the warmth of his body lulling her into a homey comfort. 

Nothing like that at all. 

Feelings for her best friend aside, she’d be more than able to share a full-sized bed—that’s really meant for only one person—with him. But then, she thinks about how much—how quickly, he’d rejected the idea, and then she deflates. He’d been so defensive, so insistent. So—

_EEEEEEEE-EEEP_

Michelle can hear him suck in a breath, bracing himself. 

“Oh, my _GOD.”_ She whisper-shouts into the pitch black room, grabbing her pillow and pushing her face into it. 

“I’m sorry!” Peter matches her tone, sitting up before throwing himself back against the cushions.

No. She will not listen to this all night. _She’s had enough._

If’s she going to get any sleep at all—

Peter sits up again, listening as MJ starts rustling around on the bed. “What—What are you doing?” He asks carefully. 

“Scooting over.” She snaps.

“What? Why?”

“Just get in the bed, Parker.”

“Wha—what?” Even in the dark of the room, Michelle can practically see the blush fall over his entire face. 

She scoots closer to the wall, huffing indignantly. “Because I don’t wanna have to listen to that all night. I’d like to sleep at some point, if that’s okay with you.”

It takes a moment for Peter to respond, and at first, Michelle thinks—worries—that she’s taken a step too, far.

But then, the couch squeaks again as Peter stands hesitantly. 

“...Are you—Are you sure?” He asks, his voice coming closer, her heart leaping into her throat. 

Despite the rush of blood roaring in her ears, she holds her ground. “God, yes! Just get over here already,” she whispers again, opening the blanket for him to get in. 

She can hear the hesitation in his silence, but she’s surprised when the bed dips beside her. His hand brushes her arm as he crawls under the blanket and settles into the mattress. When he settles in, he keeps a respectable distance, clinging as close to the side as possible. It’s certainly a tight fit, even with both of them as close to their respective ends of the bed as they can possibly get, and although he’s almost falling off the edge, she can still feel the his warmth.

And then, they both lie there for what seems like hours, each holding their breath, neither one daring to speak, neither one truly settled.

Michelle tries moving, turning away from him, though it doesn’t help much. He’s still too close; she can still feel him right next to her. 

_It’s not fair,_ she thinks. _It’s really not._

Though she’s not all that surprised; she shouldn’t be. This is exactly what the both of them had been avoiding. 

Michelle shifts again before sighing in defeat. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks as he turns on his side, his quiet, soft, sleepy voice so incredibly close. She shivers. 

“Can’t sleep,” she says, nestling further into her pillow. 

On instinct, she turns back around to face him. 

Perhaps a mistake. 

His face is mere inches from hers, her breath catching in her throat. If the lights were on, she’s sure she could count every freckle on his nose. He quickly pulls back to give her another centimeter of space. “Sorry,” he whispers, the sheepish grin on his face audible. 

“It’s fine,” She breathes out, albeit a bit shakily, as she rolls over onto her back again. 

Her hand falls to the middle of the bed, but she yanks it back when her pinky brushes his. “Sorry,” she says, huffing out a laugh at herself. 

Peter rolls onto his stomach, his face turning to her as he rests his head on his pillow. “You’re good,” he mumbles groggily, his eyelids drooping with every passing second. “This is so much comfier.” 

She smiles, a warm fluttering in her stomach as she looks over at him. His breathing deepens slowly, and soon, she can tell that he’s fast asleep. 

_He could fall asleep anywhere,_ he said. 

_Anywhere except for a loveseat._

Sleep doesn’t seem to want to come as easily to Michelle. She still tosses and turns, feeling herself drifting in and out of the first stage, never fully asleep and never fully awake, staying in that torturous limbo in between for what feels like a whole-ass eternity. 

When a solid-ish form of rest finally comes, it’s gone before she has a chance to realize. She opens her eyes again, seeing the hint of the beginning of morning light through the single window in their room. Craning her neck up from her pillow she looks over Peter’s sleeping form and at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 

_4:48 AM._

She falls back against her pillow with a frustrated huff. 

“You okay?”

If she weren’t so sleep deprived, Peter’s soft voice so suddenly awake and beside her would have made her jump. Instead, she passes him a fleeting glance before rubbing her one of her eyes with a knuckle. 

“Can’t sleep,” she says again, just as she had earlier. 

Peter rolls on his side to face her fully, his arm tucked under his pillow, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “Do you want more cow facts?”

Her laugh cracks, voice worn from a lack of sleep. “No. No. I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“I’m gonna get you more cow facts.”

“Peter—”

But he’s already reaching for his phone on the table, turning back to face her after typing into his google search. His face glows blue from the light, and she can’t help the way her lips tug upward at his look of fierce concentration. 

“Okay, you can pick—”

She stares up at the ceiling. 

“— _27 Amazing Cow Facts That Will Impress Your Friends,_ or—get ready for this—”

She will not look at him. 

“Are you ready?” He doesn’t wait. “ _10 ‘Udderly’ Fascinating Facts About Cows_.”

“Peter—” She warns, her grin hiding nothing, as she turns on her side to face him. 

“Pick!” He insists, his quiet voice full of mischief and excitement. “You gotta.”

Her eyes narrow. “Neither.”

“Okay, we’re going punny,” He decides for her. “Did you know that cows cause more deaths than sharks per year? Crazy right? Where’s Cow Week then, huh?” He scrolls further upon earning no response besides a deadpan stare. “You ever wondered why Cows moo? Well, these moos are the pick-up lines of the cattle world. Bulls and cows let each other know that they are ready to, in the words of a bovine Marvin Gaye, get it on.”

“I hate you.”

“Cows can see three-hundred-sixty degrees. Kinda like chameleons—HEY!”

Before he can even finish the fun fact, her hand shoots out to yank his phone out of his hands. His reflexes are much fast, and he holds it away over the edge of the bed.

“No more cow facts!” MJ hisses as she reaches over him, her arm laying across his chest, in an attempt to snatch his phone and throw it across the room. “No more!”

Peter lets out a breathy laugh, and it’s then, when he just drops his phone, that she realizes how close their faces are; his nose just barely brushing hers, his breath fanning her face. They stay like that a moment, her hand unconsciously smoothing over the fabric of his t-shirt, unable to tear her gaze from his.

Almost instantly she pulls back, muttering out a sorry. 

But she doesn’t fully move away, and neither does he. 

There’s a moment, one where it all just suddenly clicks—where it all falls neatly into place, like that last, perfect piece in Tetris—and it’s when she finally lets herself look right at him; when she sees that tiny, shy smirk on his face; when she sees that unspoken tint to his eyes as he looks at her.

“Do you, uh—” He swallows. “Wanna hear another one?” 

There’s nothing she can do to stop herself from smiling a soft smile.

“No.”

Against any of her better judgement, she leans in.

The first brush of her lips against his is barely there. It’s unbelievably soft, almost as if she’s dreaming. Peter startles at the touch, and she pulls back. He stares at her, mouth parted as he looks at her, speechless. A nervous laugh bubbles up out of him as he tentatively brings a hand to brush her wild curls behind her ear, staying there. 

“You kissed me?” He asks dumbly.

She nods, mentally reminding herself to breath. 

And that’s all it takes.

A split-second later, he’s crashing his lips against hers, sighing in relief at the contact, his hand moving to cup her jaw. And it’s a feeling that’s everything to her. For something that’s been so hyped up in her mind for so long, she feels delighted shock in finding that the feel of his mouth moving with hers far exceeds any of her previous expectations. 

There’s a faint tremble to her hand as she cards it through his stupidly soft hair, gathering the strands, giving an unconscious, yet gentle tug. Peter groans, the sound sending a tidal wave of electricity through her. 

And truly, she thinks she could live in this moment for forever, cheesy as it sounds. 

His hand moves to her neck, bringing her even closer to him as tilts his head, deepening the kiss. With his free hand, he grips at her waist—her old t-shirt bunching as he pulls himself up to lean over her—before moving down to smooth circles into her exposed hip. 

A harsh, short breath escapes her as she grips onto his black shirt, her other hand slipping underneath it to smooth across his stomach. 

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Peter murmurs against her lips when he pulls back. “Like—a long time.” His laugh is breathy. 

Hers is, too. Almost moreso. “Yeah,” she grins. “Me, too.”

The way his smile stretches, reaching all the way up to his eyes just might kill her, she thinks for a split-second, and she comes to her own rescue by pulling his face back down to hers. 

She can feel his smile widen through the kiss as he rolls them over, her legs coming naturally to wrap around his waist as he lays on top of her. He squeezes her hip playfully, his hand ghosting across the waistband of her shorts. At her sharp intake of breath, he retracts his hand quickly, as if he’s been burned, mumbling out a “Sorry” against her cheek as he moves to press kisses along the column of her throat. 

Michelle feels herself laugh breathily, still unable to bite back her smile. “It’s… It’s fine.” She takes his hand back to it’s place on her stomach, encouraging him to continue, her body screaming in celebration. 

But he pulls away, looking at her inquisitively, the hand she’d moved coming back to rest on her arm. “We don’t have to do anything—”

“—I know we don’t,” she cuts him off, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she grins up at him. “But I want to.”

Somehow, someway, his grin seems to get even bigger, and he tries twisting his mouth in an effort to hide it. “Me, too.”

Without another word, she pulls him back down, kissing him soundly, his hand still resting against the flat of her stomach. Again, he deepens the kiss, a hand reaching to cradle the back of her head as his lips mould perfectly against hers. His tongue shyly brushes against her lips, and she readily parts them. 

Her breathing grows ragged once more, and unconsciously, she rolls her hips upward, moaning softly into his mouth at the feeling of his hardness briefly pressing against her. He holds himself up with his free hand, muscles tensing as he bites back a groan. Her smile against his lips grows, and she does it again, earning the same reaction. 

He huffs out a nervous chuckle, his kissing growing gentler as his other hand comes once again to the waistband of her soft sleep shorts. Slowly, almost too slowly, his hand dips under her shorts, and he freezes again. 

Michelle’s ready to pull away and ask if he’s alright before he starts to just barely touch her.

Her hips jerk slightly, and she laughs quietly when he pulls away from her, looking down at her with curious concern before cupping her through her cotton boyshorts. One of his fingers traces a line down the middle of the soft fabric; it’s a faint touch, almost ghostly, but it’s more than enough to make her face burn hot. Almost experimentally, he presses down harder, his strokes smooth as he starts to rub slowly, the corner of his lip quirking upward at the tiny gasp that comes out of her. 

He matches the pace with their breathing, his movements slow and deliberate. Pulling her in for another quick, yet sound kiss, he removes his hand. Instinctively, she raises her hips, her own shaking hands moving to remove her sleep shorts. She pushes them off, though she struggles getting them past her thigh, Peter swooping in to move them down the rest of the way. 

“Teamwork,” he jokes lamely.

“Great—ah,” She responds, her voice catching when he returns his hand it’s earlier ministrations. “Great job.”

“Thanks,” he says with a small smirk. 

This time, his strokes are faster, and he adds just the tiniest bit of pressure. Michelle’s breathing gets heavier, less steady, and all she can do is close her eyes and focus on just how fucking _good_ it feels. 

And also, how god damn _frustrating_ it is that he’s still not actually touching her yet. 

She can feel Peter’s smug smile against her neck when she lets out the quietest whine and she almost speaks up, ready to tell him off—joking of course—until she feels his hand finally dip past the navy blue lace trim. 

_Fuck._

His fingers hover above her silky skin before coming down slowly. They both let out shaky breaths as he touches her— _finally_ touches her. His movement is still tentative as he goes to tease her entrance, collecting her wetness and swirling it over her clit, the slight tremor in his hand giving his nerves away. Unconsciously, her hand comes to rest on his, guiding him softly into a gentle rhythm. He murmurs something incoherent before capturing her lips into a tender kiss. 

He repeats his movements, dipping his finger further into her each time. 

“Oh—” A soft moan escapes her when he inserts a second finger, an uncontrollable grin pulling at his lips at the sound. 

His fingers pump and in out of her, curling, speeding up when he notices how her breathing matches, his eyes trailing down to her lips. Michelle can hear her heart thundering in her ears, her breathing growing ragged as he picks up his pace. 

But before she can feel herself getting closer to that point, Peter removes his fingers, sitting back on his heels as he rests between her knees. The whine that comes out of her at the loss of contact would almost be embarrassing if she wasn’t so annoyed. She glares up at him, though her gaze softens when he glances down briefly, then back up again, his eyes questioning and earnest. 

“Can—” He clears his throat. “Can I—?”

It takes her a moment to register what he’s asking, but then it hits her. 

_Oh, fuck._

“Yes!” She answers a little too quickly, disguising her excitement under a cough. “I mean—” she replies slowly, lowering her voice. “Yes.”

He grins easily at her, the expression making her heart seize. 

His smile fades as he leans down, his fingers tracing the lace trim of her boyshorts, pulling them down slowly, leaving them to hang off of her left leg. Before she can make any comment—perhaps one about how he half-asses everything, though perhaps, she thinks, it’s not the time for that—he dips his head down quickly, his lips meeting hers.

Michelle shudders, and her breathing hitches as he flattens his tongue before licking a long stripe up the length of her center, the fingers of his left hand digging into her thighs. Instinctively, her hands fly to his hair, wrapping themselves in the soft curls, smoothing them down as he sucks on her clit, tracing smooth circles with his tongue. He moves his free hand back up to her hips, curling two of his fingers into her once again. 

After a beat, she lays back, allowing herself to become lost in the feeling, letting Peter coax soft moans from her lips, unable to stop her body from tensing, her insides twisting in white hot pleasure. He quickens his pace, and she has to cover her mouth to stifle her moans. He glances up at her, a sight that’s almost too dizzying when she dares a quick glance in return. She feels that same heat pooling in her stomach again, a wavy smile tugging at her lips as she feels herself getting closer and closer. 

Her thighs twitch, tensing around Peter’s head, and for a moment, she worries that her hair pulling is a little rough—which doesn’t seem to be a problem, given the moans that Peter gives when she tugs and pulls, and frankly, it’s hard to focus on anything else with how she’s teetering back and forth on the edge. With another swipe of his tongue, Michelle gasps, bucking her hips upward, her fist in his hair holding him in _just that right spot._

The coil tightens, the heat burning, and with added pressure to her clit, she feels herself flutter and spasm around his fingers as she releases, back arching as he whimpers under her breath. Peter pulls back, his breathing as ragged as hers, wiping his mouth before crawling up to meet her. 

She doesn’t wait for him to ask before pulling him down, capturing his lips into a heated kiss, sighing as she tastes herself on him. 

For a moment, there’s nothing else said between them as Peter pulls away, laying on his side next to her, the only sound in the room being their labored breaths. 

“Go team,” he jokes. 

With a playful eye roll, still breathless, MJ goes to pull the blanket back over them after the AC kicks in again, sending a shiver through her. “Go team,” she says back. 

As soon as she’s back against the pillow, he moves in again, his hands moving to cup her face as he plants a soft kiss on her lips that makes her heart flutter. Her hand sneaks under the blanket as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss once more. The surprised grunt the comes out of Peter as she dips her hand under the waistband of his boxers, grabbing his dick, causes a faint, tired laugh to bubble up out of her. 

He kisses her back eagerly, laying them back against the pillows as he brings a hand to rest on her naked hip. 

It’s such a happy moment, Michelle thinks. Her heart feels as if it’s soaring in her chest, her cheeks warm and glowing. She likes this loser. So much. And she’s unbelievably glad that he feels the same. 

Peter groans, feeling her soft hand tighten around him. His strangled moan is cut off. “Oh, God—”

And, perhaps in what they’ll remember as the ultimate, literal cockblock of all time from a Certified Moment Killer, Ned Leeds, their dear, dear friend, barges into the room. 

“—Guys! Betty and I are gonna go watch the sunrise! Wanna—?”

He freezes, seeing his two best friends huddled together.

“—What’s going on guys? Why are you… in the same bed…?”

It’s in that moment that Michelle’s exceedingly glad she put the blanket back on so that they’re friend can remain blissfully unaware. 

It’s also in that moment that she promptly takes her hand off of Peter’s dick.

Peter and MJ exchange glances 

“...There was only one bed. And the couch sucked.”

Ned stares at them, his brows pinched together. He points a thumb at the loveseat in question, his expression seeming to state the obvious.

“You know that’s a pull-out couch right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @smhomecomeme!
> 
> Hope you guys liked it! Lemme know your thoughts!!

**Author's Note:**

> can i get a hell yeah
> 
> also sorry for all the cow facts


End file.
